


My Father

by CayaStrife



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Conversation, Death, Endor, Family, Gen, Grief, Mourning, One Shot, Post-RotJ, based on art, friends - Freeform, heart to heart, talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CayaStrife/pseuds/CayaStrife
Summary: Having returned to Endor after the destruction of the Death Star, Luke and Han share a sleepless night and a conversation…inspired by this wonderful piece of art: http://delannoie.tumblr.com/post/180139399750/the-truth-the-night-when-luke-told-han-all-a





	My Father

A soft cooing rang in his ears, murmurs of nocturnal wildlife native to the small forest moon. The night's air was alive with song, even long after the victorious drumming had rung out, the bonfires reluctantly simmered down to mere ash.

Despite all their joy and elation, the revelers had eventually succumbed to the peace of the victor's sleep. All but one.

Han Solo was no stranger to the hustle and bustle of celebration, and had, of course, done his own share. But still sleep would not come to him. He craned his neck toward the small opening functioning as a window, yet could spy nothing but the trees' dense canopy beyond it. Not a single speck of starlight penetrated the heavy foliage.

Unfortunately, there was no way in the seven hells that Han Solo would be able to find sleep without either a clear view of the sky or the low, always arrhythmic humming of his Falcon's engines.

So, with a sigh of defeat, he slowly lifted himself from the thin mattress, careful not to disturb the small woman sleeping next to him. Perhaps more so than everyone else, the Princess deserved her rest.

A cursory glance around revealed little else of interest, until his eyes came to rest on the empty cot next to the entrance. His brows furrowed with a dawning concern. It seemed he wasn't the only one having problems finding sleep that night.

Noiselessly, he stepped out of the hut and paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His feet took him toward a larger, more open area at the edge of the settlement. Just distant enough to afford both a certain level of privacy as well as clear view of the sky above Endor. The very same space which had, until very recently, been occupied by the Empire's Second Death Star. And there, hunched over and dwarfed by the open space, sat the small figure of the other insomniac. Tousled dark-blond bangs covered his face; in his hands - one exposed, the other clad in its customary black glove - he cradled a long, metallic tube, almost longingly, reverently.

"Can't get a wink of sleep in those stuffy huts either, huh?"

The other man started, his eyes jerking to the new arrival.

"Oh, Han." he acknowledged simply before continuing. "Yeah, something like that."

Although bothered by the remnants of a strangely haunted look in the boy's eyes, Han decided to ignore the nagging worry and instead leaned casually against the wooden railing. A feat impossible for all but those immune to vertigo. He glanced up at the stars, the ghost of the battle station's silhouette casting an imaginary but palpable shadow.

"You're a hero, you know? You of all people deserve some rest."

The reply came quiet, barely audible.

"I'm no hero." Luke's words were laced with an emotion Han felt hard to place. "I…"

The smuggler turned to face his companion and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me? You defeated Vader _and_ the Emperor. You more or less singlehandedly brought down the Empire!"

Han would have expected bashfulness, modesty - stars, even joy - but not the obvious twinge of pain contorting Luke's features. And even less he would have expected the confession accompanying them.

"I didn't, though."

There was a moment of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't defeat the Emperor, Han." The small voice returned. For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and Han was sure that, had the contact lasted longer, he would not have been able to bear its intensity. There was a pain in those blue eyes - now glassy and haunted by crimson shadows at their edges - a sadness so profound it seemed beyond consolation, beyond restoration. Han could only speculate at the source of such emotions, and the subsequent images constricted his throat, lending his voice the raspiness of the debilitated.

"What are you saying?"

The blue eyes avoided his this time, but the answer came nevertheless.

"It wasn't me, Han." There was a moment of quiet, even the creatures of the forest seemed to wait with bated breath, aware of the importance of the revelation ahead. "It was my father."

"Your _father_?" Han couldn't help but blurt out before the words even properly registered in his brain. "You just lost me, kid. Care to explain?"

If it was at all possible, Luke's already small frame collapsed even further, becoming almost too slight to support the shaking head.

"I don't know if I should." he muttered hesitantly. "Stars, I don't even know if I _can_ …"

There was fear in those words, Han recognized. A fear that, once the truth was spoken, there would be no going back. That things would forever be changed between them.

Han adjusted his position, giving Luke more space while making sure not to distance himself further.

"Come on, Luke. We're basically family. Brothers. You're like a broody, awkward - need I mention slightly less handsome? - cousin twice removed." When nothing else did, that small jab earned him a smile. The tiniest, saddest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless. "Whatever you say, it won't change what I think of you."

Luke's eyes sought his for a moment, testing the veracity of his claim.

"I'll remind you of that…" Both voice and eyes seemed to say, even though there was less certainty in the latter.

Again, there was silence when Luke began to gather himself and the courage needed to say what must be said. When he spoke, his voice was low but calm and steady. The voice of someone far beyond the young Jedi's years, of one accustomed to hardship and suffering.

"When I first went to face Vader, I… I thought I could turn him. Bring out the good I felt in him."

" _Good?_ In _Darth Vader?"_ Again, Han found it hard to control himself, his disbelief bypassing his mind-to-speech filter.

"Please, Han…" Luke pleaded, asking to be allowed to finish before he lost the courage to do so. Raising his hands in apology, Han conceded. It was a while before Luke continued.

"I thought I could, but it wasn't– _I_ wasn't enough. I guess it started sinking in when Vader brought me to the Emperor. That was it. That’s when I finally realized there was no way I was walking out of that alive. But it didn't matter. It was the will of the Force, and I knew what I had to do."

Hearing how lightly the boy spoke of sacrificing himself, it took all of Han's self-control to keep from berating him then and there. To remind him of just how important he was to all of them, and just what he thought of a shoddy, ancient religious cult that sent its members on obvious suicide missions.

If Luke had picked up on any of those thoughts, he didn't show it and eventually continued.

"I might have learned since Bespin, but Vader was strong, and we fought relentlessly. My anger spurred me on… and my fear, knowing that all of you were walking into a trap down here. It gave me strength and… I injured him. I brought him to his knees in my rage."

A sigh escaped from the young man's lips, but it brought no relief. Only made way for that which was still to come.

"I almost fell, Han." He pressed out against an audible lump in his throat, fear reducing his voice to little more than a whisper. "I almost fell to the dark side."

"But you didn't." Han felt the need to point out, unsure of how else to reassure his friend. Helpless in the face of such powers at work.

"No. I couldn't." Luke conceded, although taking no pride in the achievement. "Not knowing what I would become. Having it right in front of me. Needless to say, the Emperor wasn't pleased…" A miniscule tremor overcame his hands as he likely recalled - re _lived_ \- the moment. "Have you ever been electrocuted? It kind of feels like someone is liquifying your bones, and your muscles, your tendons…"

The shivers intensified, spread to his arms, torso and legs. An involuntary movement he likely never even noticed, so far removed from the moment was he, so caught up in reliving the events of the past days. Although in other moments he would be loath to admit it, Han felt the almost instinctive need to embrace his friend. To show him that he was there, that Luke was safe now, that no more harm would come to him. Never again. Not as long as Han had any say in it. But he restrained himself. He knew there was more that needed to be said. That all he had to do was listen. And so he did.

Before long, Luke continued.

"I pleaded with Vader. I begged him to help me. I never thought he would turn against his master; not really. But he did. Injured as he was, _knowing_ the Force lightning would kill him, he took hold of the Emperor and… 'disposed' of him.”

Han had been following the words attentively, but felt he was no closer to the revelation he had been led to expect.

“But didn't you say your father–”

“Vader is– _was_ my father.” Luke interrupted in the smallest of voices cracking terribly halfway through the sentence, stunning Han into a momentary silence. The boy couldn't be serious about this, could he? The smuggler tried to catch a look at his companion's face, but found it hidden behind his tousled hair, steeped in shadows, unreadable.

“To be fair, the man who _became_ Darth Vader - Anakin Skywalker - was my father.” He clarified, his voice becoming less steady with every syllable, every fateful name. Every fresh, raw wound disturbed anew, an impossibly long way from healing.

_Anakin Skywalker. Kenobi. The Hero With No Fear._ Remnants of old memories long forgotten welled up in Han's mind, filling the gaps in half-formed theories and suspicions he had never consciously entertained. Not until now. And it actually made sense.

"Holy S–" A curse died in his throat as the implications caught up with him, his mind evaluating the new information against the background of all he had been told in the past few minutes. And there truly was no going back, he had to admit, as his heart both broke and grew for the boy at the same time.

"He was redeemed in the end, you know?" The small voice pulled him from his thoughts. "In his last moments, I got to see him. Truly see him for the first time. Without the helmet and mask. Not as Vader, but as _my_ _father_. He– I…” A small sob, the first of many, ravaged the boy, momentarily stole his words. “I couldn't save him, Han. I was so close. _So close_ … He died in my arms…”

Han wasn't entirely sure if the sob escaped from his throat or that of the boy - or perhaps even both - but found he did not care. He hardly recognized his own voice anyway and welcomed the anonymity. Slowly, carefully, he sat down next to the young Jedi and placed a steadying hand on his shaking one.

“Luke…”

But there was more yet. More weight to add to a burden already so heavy it seemed far too weighty for any one man to bear.

“I took him with me. Down here, to Endor. Burned what was left of him.”

Han gave the boy's arm a comforting squeeze, feeling more inadequate than ever before in all his tumultuous life. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the fact of the Princess' involvement, the parentage of which she was likely still ignorant. To his own surprise, he found he wasn't bothered at all. How valid were his concerns, his suffering, when his friend had to endure so much more? How could he feel anything but compassion and the need to alleviate his sorrow?

“You said he was redeemed.” Han ventured, working the words around the lump in his own throat. “You saved the galaxy – and your father.”

A clipped, desperate laugh escaped Luke.

“Stars, I know!” As his voice gained in volume, it cracked even further, thick with tears and heavy with desolation. “I know he became one with the Force, but… I never got to know him. There's so much I wanted to ask; so much only he could have taught me. If only we'd had a little more time. Just _a little_ more… I never even told him–“

Another sob racked his body and his gloved right hand flew to his eyes, shielding them as if the mere act could push back at the tears and return them to their origin.

Han forced himself to breathe and brought his arm around Luke's shoulders. How small they were, he realized with a sting of pain in his chest, how slight. How could they even hope to carry the burden placed upon them? Before his inner eye danced images from years ago, ages it seemed, of an innocent, sunburnt farmboy with wide eyes hungry for the wonders of the galaxy, a heart wide enough to hold compassion for all of its beings. How much of that had been lost, he wondered as he looked down first at the child at his side and then swept his gaze back up to the stars.

“If I know anything about the Force,” he ventured tentatively, “then your old man understands. Wherever he is now.”

Had Han not been listening closely, he likely would have missed the next words, small as they were, their immense weight keeping them from ringing far.

“I know… I just really miss him…”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Han's lips as he turned slightly and opened his arms. Luke finally accepted the unspoken offer, his hands clutching at the smuggler's jacket in desperate need for support, for any sort of hold in a galaxy that seemed bent on toppling him.

And so they sat, not speaking another word, merely seeking and lending strength, comfort. Once nothing but strangers. Now far more.

Cousins. Brothers.

_Family._


End file.
